The Iron Eagle's Flight
by Rebel-to-Write
Summary: Prussia recalls the moments that have made him who he is. PruHun, GerIta and AusHun. Spans 1806-2010. Semi-historical.
1. 1867: A Wedding

A Heart

The Hungarian-Austrian Union

1867

She belonged amongst the trees. Her coppery hair and bright green eyes had once allowed her traverse as one with the forests of her home. Hungary is the only nation that deserves Elizaveta. Her own land has not yet betrayed or harmed her. Gilbert knows, deep within himself, that neither of them deserve to keep her.

Roderick kisses his bride, breaking his usual austerity to take Elizaveta into the circle of his arms and kiss her so hard that her gasp echoes in the vaulted church. Her grin is so earnest and wide Gilbert goes completely still. She is happy, and that should make him happy, but its not enough. So he sits calmly in the pew and forces stoicism into his face.

Ludwig is still very small, hardly the height of a normal five year old, but he's much better than he was only a year or so before and the flourishing of this growth and health has caused this marriage and has finally driven any chance Elizaveta had of independence. But Gilbert knows that this marriage is truly on equal terms, that both of them love the other. He knows that this wedding would have happened eventually, with or without his aggression. He knows Ludwig's well being is worth every bit of the ache in his chest, but still its not enough. So Gilbert shuts his eyes and places his hands in his lap and holds very still but for his breathing.

Ludwig inches his way closer, until they are thigh-to-thigh, but Gilbert doesn't move. Its only a few minutes later when the music has stopped and the rustle of skirts and clacking of dress swords has silenced that Ludwig's head presses into Gilbert's shoulder that he startles and whisks Ludwig off the pew and down the aisle. He doesn't want to miss Elizaveta's leaving. He keeps his hands on his brother's narrow shoulders. His brother doesn't realize it there is no physical pressure, but Ludwig is all that is holding him up.

As they make it outside, sunlight sweeps over them and Gilbert has to squint for a moment to make her out in the light. Elizaveta is mounting the steps to the carriage and despite the train of her skirt, she doesn't accept anyone's hand to do so. When she's settled and leaning out the gilded window, her skin is a luminous ivory to match the dress though there is a sort of glow to her that out does any of the pearls stitched into the hems of her dress, but it isn't her color. White washes her out like black. He lifts his hand from Ludwig's little epaulet and squints to compare their skin are a distance. Her's is barely any more alive than his is and she's never been so pale. Roderick appears in the adjacent widow and they wave goodbye, ever the happy couple. Ludwig grabs Gilbert's hand and they jostle their way through crowd of well wishers.

"Elizaveta!" Ludwig's voice calls and panic shivers down Gilbert. Ludwig bounces up and down, all blond bangs and tiny blue and waves his arms. Elizaveta gets a glimpse of him and her grin widens. She opens the carriage door for a moment, descends the steps and gather's Ludwig up in her arms for a moment, laughing as she does. She is the closest thing to a mother he's ever known, and Gilbert can try all he like to replace her, but Ludwig against her breast is a sight he can't replace. Roderick appears behind her and Ludwig chatters happily at him while

Roderick taps her shoulder and he and Elizaveta say goodbye to Ludwig, but Ludwig clings to her. Its only when Elizaveta strides forward in a whorl of skirts and gently hands Ludwig to Gilbert that Ludwig lets go of her. It takes him a second though, and Elizaveta has to touch him. Its just their forearms brushing, and its only for a second, but its more of her than he's had in a decade.

They make eye contact for the first time in ages. Her head tilts a little and Gilbert tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry. He can't say a word, and he can hardly breath. Her eyes are full of joy and there is no longing for him, but as she places a kiss to the top of Ludwig's blonde head, he swears there is a dark glint of seething hatred towards him. He's taken away the final piece to their perfect world and perfect lives. He's taken away the closest thing she and Roderick can ever have to a son of their own and he doesn't blame her for her hatred. Guilt and putrid selfishness rises in his chest and try as he might, he will never hate her for it.

"Viszontlátásra!" She says piercingly and then just as quickly, Gilbert removes himself from the sight of her leaving. But the Hungarian is still sharp and stabbing in his ears as they leave. German is harsh and precise, but their goodbye, their "Auf Wiedersehen" carries the promise of reunion. Hungarian doesn't. Hungarian is final. Hungarian inflicts damage in a way a bullet or a sword never can.


	2. 1867: A Wedding Night

A Hearth

The Wedding Night

1867

When they finally escape the church square, and get into their own carriage, Gilbert is clawing at what remains of his composure. The moment he draws the heavy curtains over the windows and blocks out the light is the moment Ludwig clambers into his lap. Prussia kisses his brother's hair silently, again and again until he stops and simply allows Ludwig to curl up against him. They ride for hours, only stopping to switch out horses until they reach the German border. From there, they board a private train car and Ludwig is rocked to sleep by the sway of the rails until they reach home after night has fallen.

Home was the Stadtschloss for now, but Gilbert and Ludwig only lived in a few rooms, cut off from couriers and all but a few servants and staff. Gilbert was asleep, sprawled out on top of the covers on the large four poster bed. He was fully dressed. Outside, storms battered and tore at the walls, but Gilbert slept through it. He had downed mug after mug of beer and had not stopped until he'd toppled over on the bed and sent the stein flying. It smashed over the floor and he didn't care. For now, he didn't give a damn if Berlin was being lashed by a thunderstorm. If Elizaveta was riding Roderick and gripping the sheets with white knuckled fists, he didn't care. If he was sticky with the beer that had sloshed and dried over his skin, he didn't care. If there were tear streaks on his face, he certainly didn't give a damn. There was only the soft black of alcohol-induced sleep.

Gilbert woke slowly, vaguely aware of panic but he was too dull to care about it. But when he managed to open his eyes, everything was throbbing and his vision flashed scarlet before his ears were pierced by shrieking.

"Brudder!" Ludwig called for him like a child should have called for his mother. Gilbert swung off the bed before he could sit up properly and scooped a pale Ludwig into his arms. He bounced his knee and rocked a little, tucking the blonde head under his chin.

"Shush- please shush, its alright, its alright." That usually quieted Ludwig, but the shrieking heightened into a keen wailing that twisted at Gilbert's insides. Gilbert felt the familiar panic of inadequacy and bit his lip.

"What's wrong, West? I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong!" He snapped. Ludwig whimpered and Gilbert winced, stomach plummeting. Something warm and thick drips into Gilbert's leg and he smells copper before he sees blood.

"France! France- He killed m-me!" Ludwig's voice shakes and fear tears through them both. Gilbert kills his own at the bud and fury takes its place. He stands up, arms steady under and against his brother.

"Its okay. He can't hurt you. He can't hurt you." Gilbert tries to sooth. France is no match for him now, and Gilbert is plenty capable of wielding a blade one handed if he needs to keep Ludwig in the other, but Gilbert takes a step and glass crunches under his boots. He gets a flash of the stein slipping from his clammy hands and both brothers go still.

After a moment, Gilbert rinses the cuts on his brothers feet and the bleeding stops on its own accord. Ludwig was not heavy enough, nor unlucky enough to step directly on the glass so there are no deep gashes in his feet. When he's finished with that, Gilbert places Ludwig on the bed and Ludwig curls into a ball while Gilbert peels off layers until he is in his shirt-sleeves and pants. He pulls the sheets back and Ludwig rolls under the covers. Gilbert follows and then encircles Ludwig in his arms. He's shaky and drunk and a terrible brother, but the kiss he places to Ludwig's forehead head has to be enough, because its all he's got to give of himself right now.

Gilbert wakes with a gasp, silently screaming for his brother. The tang of blood is heavy in his mouth and the horror of their own blood being spilled is still branded into the backs of his eyelids. It is dawn now and gold light is streaming through the windows dressed in nothing but gauzy curtains but Gilbert doesn't care. He pulls the curtains of the four poster and curls around Ludwig again to sleep. They both need this. He needs to know that Ludwig is safe in his arms. He needs to know that bestowing his Kingdom will be enough. He needs to know that his Kingdom can be forged into an Iron Empire for the new heir. He doesn't know yet, so he takes Ludwig's warm weight onto himself. It fills the place that needs the answers. Soon enough, he will have them. Soon enough, they will go to war. Soon enough, politics will have no place in his brother's future. Soon enough, Ludwig will have all that is Gilbert's.


	3. 1871: The Birth of An Empire

A Home

Birth of the German Empire

1871

The black, red and white of Imperial Germany's single flag was reflected millions of times over in the sparkling walls that made up Versailles' Hall of Mirrors. They were conquerors marching into Paris with the French bowing to their will, begging for mercy at their feet. Gilbert was in charge of all, but today belonged to Ludwig. He had honored Gilbert though.. Their flags were displayed next to each other, as equals. Germania's legacy had been torn apart and fractured by his many sons, but now, millennium later, it was finally being handed to the son who was the youngest and best of Germania's heirs.

Ludwig knelt before Gilbert for the last time. His little brother is pale and nervous. There is so much pride in Gilbert it is hard to keep still, but there was a crowd of the Junkers in their best uniforms to please. They are silent. Never again will the elder be above the younger. Gilbert is dressed in blue. There is no ceremony for bestowing a nation onto a man and this is not like giving a crown to a king, so Gilbert makes it up as he goes.

"I, The Kingdom of Prussia, bestow the complete sovereignty of the German States onto the German Empire." His voice rumbles through the hall and Ludwig looked up and Gilbert knew his brother had seen the slightest twitch of a smile in Gilbert's face. The shaky nervous look fell away from his face and Ludwig stood.

"I am the Deutches Reich!" He declared firmly to the crowd of officers. Sabers sprung from sheaths, arched high in the air and it was done. Germany existed, honestly and utterly, as one land and one people for the first time since the fall of Rome.

Prussia's king now the German Emperor and when Wilhelm strides down the aisle, Gilbert and Ludwig click their heels and bow low before Ludwig backs away, fearful.

Wilhelm waves them to a halt. "No, no. None of that." His voice is kind. "I hear its your birthday, young man."

Ludwig seems half out of his mind with fright, but when he looks up and sees Gilbert's smile, he eases and nods. "Bruder's too."

The Kaiser smiles, looks at Gilbert and a seconds eye contact is all it takes for the years and years of political sheltering and and protection to fall away. Gilbert is proud to share this with Ludwig. He nods and Wilhelm smiles his broad, friendly smile and gets down on his knees to address his Ludwig at eye-level. Gilbert takes a step back, faint smile across his face. This is it. This is Ludwig's ascension. This is Ludwig eclipsing him. This is everything he's ever wanted. Gilbert swallows and steadies himself.

"So what should I call you?" Wilhelm asks.

Ludwig looks frustrated. "I am the Deutsches Reich."

"Is that your name?" The Kaiser asks patiently.

"Its what I am."

"Ah, so not your name."

"No. My name is Ludwig."

"Ludwig. I shall call you that. Ludwig is a good, strong name."

"And that's what Bruder says, but I'm not very strong." Ludwig says, looking at his small reflection in a nearby mirror.

The Kaiser's laugh booms and Ludwig shrinks away, affronted. "I'm not that small!"

"No, no, no you are not. I'll tell you what. I'll bet that by the time my son is on the throne, you'll be taller than your brother, and stronger too."

Gilbert smiles wanly at that, more at Ludwig's petulant confusion.

"But he's my big brother I can't be bigger than my big brother." The confusion turns to terror. "Then he wouldn't be my big brother anymore!"

Gilbert grins. The meeting goes well. Ludwig only looks at him for help once and that's only because the Kaiser had asked his age. Gilbert had shrugged flippantly and the question had been dropped to say goodbye. Gilbert did not let Ludwig out of his sight, but when an attendant comes up the hill with a great big black hound on a leather lead, Ludwig's eyes light up and Gilbert tells him to go. Prussian war-dogs are the best in the world and will not harm unless ordered to do so.

Wilhelm comes to his side.

"To which of you do I rule now?" He asks. "I am King of Prussia and Emperor of Germany."

"You are, but I am old and Ludwig is very young. He needs your wisdom more than I." Gilbert says. Ludwig squats very seriously in front of the war-dog and strokes her head.

"There is a great power in that boy." The Kaiser says after several moments of silence. Startled, Gilbert looks up at the Wilhelm and then follows the Kaiser's gaze to where Ludwig is now standing before the war-dog. The hound follows his every command. Gilbert scrutinizes his little brother. He has a soft face and big eyes, but those big eyes are very solemn and very determined. They are same blue as the Baltic Sea in sunlight. He aims those eyes at the dog and the hound lays at his feet, instantly obedient. Prussia will really lay at this boy's feet someday, and when that day comes, he will know the consequences of his own blindness.


	4. 1918: The Death of an Empire

A Hollow

The Death of an Empire

1918

By the time Ludwig succumbs to the epidemic of flu, his strength is gone. It has been drained by the war, the rationing and the ever constant rumble of hunger that filled them and their people both. Gilbert spends days and days watching Ludwig waste away on the bed. He chokes on his sobs and he knows that his baby brother is slipping away even as he tries to keep a hold of him. But Gilbert's hands are weak and shaky and cannot hold his taller brother now.

So Ludwig stays on the bed, only outlined by ivory lines of skin and bone. His eyes are dead for the few moments every day that he wakes and hobbles to the bathroom and back before collapsing back onto the bed in a cacophony of hacking coughs that tear through his chest. Gilbert is without a kingdom but he is used to that now so he just sits on a stool next to his brother's and tries to draw strength from his new Free State whenever he is not called away by the need to fill their stomachs.

The hunger is the worst. Gilbert has hawked diamonds for the soggy potatoes and gold for the limp vegetables that go into the pot simmering sluggishly over the stove. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ludwig peering at him from under his bangs. He's propped Ludwig up on a pile of extra blankets and pillows (paid for with silver candlesticks) and tucked him in tight against the cold that seeps in when anyone comes and goes. Gilbert tightens the belt on his greatcoat and continues to boil the soup.

"Gilbert."

"What?" His voice is flat with exhaustion.

"You're exhausted."

Gilbert has enough energy to raise one pale eyebrow at him.

"You're tired, go to bed."

"I will when I'm finished."

"Please, Gilbert."

"In a bit."

An hour later though, they have eaten their sludge and Gilbert is hauling water into the house. The pipes are frozen and rattling, and Gilbert has done his damnedest to thaw them, but its no use. Gilbert dumps the water into the overturned keg that serves as their tank and his vision flashes grey.

"Alright, that's it." Ludwig is standing over him a second later, testing his remaining brawn against gravity and grabs a hold of Gilbert's shoulders.

"Jesus Christ, Lud, go back to bed." Gilbert manages to gasp.

"Gilbert, you fainted."

"I don't faint." He insists, but his voice is soft and there is no real fight left in him.

"Well you did, so c'mon. Bed." Ludwig insists.

"I'm good here." Gilbert mumbles and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up again, he's pressed to Ludwig's side in the bed. Both of them are fully dressed, but Ludwig's warmth has seeped in overnight. He's woken to knocking at the door. He opens the door and the news is brought by a fit, clean American doughboy in a shiny helmet and boots. Gilbert see's the flash of pity in his face and quickly steps out onto the steps to hide the decrepit interior of their house. He minimizes his shame as much as he can because it takes a German to retain any pride even in defeat.

"Herr Beilschmidt?" The American stutters out in thick, nasally German.

"Ja?"

The doughboy hands him a thick envelope and turns from the porch. Gilbert slices open the seal and reads the date and "Hereby the German Empire is dissolved. The rest is blurry. Ludwig's empire... the empire they have fought so hard and so long for, the empire they have bled and killed and died for... its collapsed on itself. Their power is broken in a million pieces. For the first time since the war has ended, Gilbert cracks. He slides down the wall.

"West!" He holds the envelope and letter in shuddering hands. The bed creaks and shifts. Gilbert reels. So much work, so much blood, so much pain- is gone, gone, gone. Gone for nothing. Its all gone for what is going to be a futile attempt at democracy. His breath hitches and then he's on his feet. Violently surprised, he allows his younger brother to pull him up and pull him back to the bed. Gilbert refuses to make a sound, but allows himself to be deposited on the bed. He slumps against the mattress and doesn't wake again for days.

"West?" He asks when he wakes up. "What's going on?"

"The Empire... its gone."


	5. 1926: An Intrepid Reunion

A Heroine

The Weimar Republic

1926

They were flourishing culturally. Berlin was alive with sex clubs and kabarets. Music venues and art galleries sprung up everywhere. Inflation slowly crept down to something manageable and the economy worked itself back to something like normal. Women wore their skirts short and danced to the fast and infuriating jazz and had sex as they liked it.

Roderick was a cripple now, his divorce had left him wheelchair bound so Ludwig had invited him to stay in Berlin until he got back onto his feet. Roderick preferred the company of nobility and was often out of the house despite his useless legs. While Roderick was gone and Ludwig was busy with his new Republic, Gilbert languished in the house amongst his cousin's many instruments. He has taken a liking to a very sleek violin and sits in the Library amongst dark oak shelves full of leather bound books and new age pamphlets.

Its a Stradivarius, a masterpiece from the Golden Era and Roderick is going to behead him if he catches Gilbert playing it, but Gilbert has never played anything so well. Its perched on his shoulder and the bow in hand, Gilbert weaves his music. One note after another reverberates through the dim room. He isn't Roderick, who plays with such mechanical precision that the song's meaning is lost. Nor is he one of the Italian brothers who strike their booming organs. Nor is he America with his swinging, sexed up jazz. He doesn't care if there is a note or two out of place he doesn't care. The music is his, and that's enough.

He plays with the somber longing for his days of unbridled glory and bloodshed inflicted by the power of his own name. He aches for the days of chanting prayers echoing on vaulted ceilings and monks in robes and armor. He plays in whorls for the days when he ran alongside Elizaveta and fucked her in the fields and forests of Hungary. He plays like he's remembering his hands brushing down her hips and whispering over the valley of her breasts and his thousand year old muscle memory is full of jerky movements and hacking motions, but he remembers the grace of bracing himself on her shoulders as they crashed together.

When his hands shake, he stops and puts the Stradivarius away into her velvet lined case. His hands shake so deeply that when he gets dressed, he can't manage his best uniform or the dress boots he's shined so well he can see his own reflection in them. Instead he slides into a worn pair of trench boots and an old uniform that had come out of the factory cheap and thin. The olive and brown doesn't suit him, doesn't mark him as anything special and even his claret eyes look dull and well-worn.

He could wander anywhere dressed like this and no one will give another bedraggled, wandering soldier another glance. Europe is full of Veteran's and Europe is used to haunted eyes and jittery hands. Gilbert gets on a train and no one gives a damn. He ends up at Lake Balaton and knocks on her door, shivering the whole way.

When the wooden door behind the screen opens, it reveals that Elizaveta is as beautiful as the day she got married, but her coloring is how it was in the forests so long ago. Her dress is just as worn and cheap as his uniform is and the leggings underneath are as equally as stained as his trousers. Her boots are as worn as his and he knows that once again, they are equals. He has lost what remains of his empire, and she has lost two thirds of her people, two thirds of her land and her access to the sea. They're broken, and Ludwig and Roderick are both behind and ahead of them, and the loneliness is so deep he's desperate. He is so desperate to be broken with someone, anyone just to crush this hollow in him.

"Hey." He whispers. His shaking hands are jammed into his pockets, and his face is unshaven and what the hell is he thinking, doing this? But what the hell? He's desperate and they both know it.

"Hello." She says and the door opens for him.


	6. 1926: An Intrepid Renewal

A Human

Kingdom of Hungary

1926

Gilbert wakes slowly. He sees nothing but amber and orange as the morning sun filters through his sleep-heavy eyelids. He groans and turns over, reaching for the slender slip of a girl he'd gone to bed with. He slides his head around and finds nothing. The bed is cold and the sheets are neatly smoothed and tucked into place. His heart leaps into his throat. He opens his eyes.

She's gone.

His heart plummets down again and he swears he feels it hit his pelvis it swoops so low. Of course she's gone. Last nights indulgence had been just that, an indulgence. He sighs and decides he might as well make his own life easier. He rolls off the bed dresses. The night had scattered them about and the more he looks at what he is wearing, the more he wonders if last night had happened out of pity. He does not put on the jacket, but tucks it under his arm with the cap as they are the most pathetic parts of the uniform.

"Why did you come here?"

He whirls around, bewildered and the words stick in his throat. He swallows and licks his lips and tries to ignore the ripple of her tense muscles of her crossed arms that bulge even as she tries to relax against the door frame.

"I don't know." He says, and its the truth. There will be no union between them, there is no future to build or hope for, all there is a hollow in his chest and the flickering sight of them between each others legs on the grass and against the firelight and under the summer canopies of her sprawling forests. He doesn't know why he came, but he swallows again and tries to answer completely. "I want it to be like it was, before."

She frowns. And he knows that before could mean a lot of things. It could mean when he was a European power, or when he was a knight or when he was a child in Germania's lap or when Germany was a child in Gilbert's lap.

"Like when we were young." When they were young, life had been mud and wooden swords and newly discovered breasts and wild days.

"Gilbert." She whispers. He can hear the ache for her marriage in her voice, for Roderick and for the peace and prosperity that marriage had given. He can't give her any of that, he can't even stand to the side and watch her seize that for herself like she can. "Gilbert." She repeats and he looks up, because his name is much sharper this time.

He swallows. "Yeah?"

"We can try, right?"

He starts and his spine snaps straight, but then a grin spreads across his face and Elizaveta is laughing.

"We can try!" He says and he wonders why he's so happy, why even the hope of an effort is making him so happy, and then he remembers that trying is all that matters, that as long as he can try, he'll get something out of all of this death and renewal.

"Race you to the beach!" She yells, and it ends in a screech of laughter. Gilbert makes quick work of his shirt and suspenders and he nearly falls as he hops past her trying to get his pants and boots off before he hits the beach that makes up her back yard. He doesn't fall until his feet are in the water. Elizaveta pummels ito him then, from behind. He's inhaled so he can proclaim his victory, but her weight knocks the air from him as they fall.

She straddles him, and Gilbert kisses her before she's scrambling off him and driving into the water. He follows her and the rocks are as smooth and rounded under his feet as her skin is under his hands as he catches her.

Time has worn them down to shadows of what they once were, but maybe what's left is what they really are, what they are really supposed to be. Elizaveta pushes down on Gilbert's head and he bobs beneath the water and he thinks that maybe that all thats left is the savagery that makes them free. All thats left is what makes them human.

He laces his fingers through her hair when he needs to come back up for air. The sunlight streaming through the copper of her hair flashes gold and Gilbert thinks she's the most beautiful human being to ever grace the planet. They are not human, no matter how hard they try, they cannot be human and whenever they forget that, it bites them back viciously, but Gilbert can't remember that now. He can't remember that with Elizaveta's hands on his neck and her legs pressed into his as they tread water. The valley of her breasts is pressed into his sternum and all he can remember is his humanity, because humanity will fill that pit of loneliness in his chest and give him something meaningful.


End file.
